Eternal Night (II) Chapter 39: Calm Before the Storm, a van helsing fanfic

Hello lovelies! I am so sorry for yet another delay in uploading the latest chapter - the holiday season is proving absolutely insane and it keeps interfering with my update schedule. But before we dive into an admittedly shorter chapter, I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of those that reviewed the last two chapters - Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, NekoFan9, Aegystine Valeska, .16, DesertMortician, and Gwenpaige. I was absolutely living for the enthusiasm, commentary, and general support over the last week!

As a courtesy FYI: we've only got one final chapter after this one before we finish book 2 (which means the final chapter of book 2 will go up on Christmas Eve), and then I'll be taking another short break before we dive into book 3. I should start posting regularly again sometime in the new year (when will depend on how quickly I can finish my last round of edits), so make sure you follow the story/turn on your notifications to ensure you don't miss the first chapter of book 3. The final installment of this behemoth is a doozy. We're going to be seeing a lot of conflict, a lot of action and a ton of things that have been steadily building over the series finally paying off.

Hopefully I'll do it all justice. We shall see :)

But thank you to those of you who have been consistently following and supporting this story. You know who you are, and to own the truth, you are one of the main reasons why I'm still even posting in general. I know most readers don't like to give new things a try - especially more original AU's or slow-burns - so your support really does mean the world to me. I've said it before and I'll say it again - writing is already such a solitary experience, but posting can be just as isolating. So thank you from the bottom of my heart for your reviews. It's amazing how so small a thing can have such an impact.

But enough of my feels. ON TO THE CHAPTER!

Chapter 39
Calm Before the Storm

They were nearing those early hours of the morning before dawn, yet Carmen's place remained abuzz with activity. Everyone was gathered in the war room, the excitement in the air palpable as they all continued to draw up plans for the oncoming war with Augustine. The story of Frankie's broadcast was all over the news, the anchors and TV personalities all dumbfounded, unsure of how to react or what to say – that is, until the footage of Elina's execution had played shortly thereafter.

It was Vesper who noticed the file first, still assisting with combing through all of Elina's footage, but when a folder had popped up that hadn't been there previously – the teenager was too curious to just ignore it. When Jacob had discovered what it was they were watching, he immediately tapped into the city's network again to play it – not even asking if it was all right.

Not that it mattered now.

From all the reports coming in, Frankie's declaration of war had roused the people of Budapest, awakening them to the awful truth of their circumstances. But Elina's death had honed that outrage into a weapon. Even with the dawn approaching, people were already gathering in the streets.

The entire north-district had been completely blockaded – nobody going in and nobody getting out.

It had been two hours since, and the palace had yet to make a comment.

Not that it would have placated the growing mob.

A storm was brewing, and soon, it would be unleashed.

The alliance would have to be smart with their next move. Anarchy and chaos could very easily be used against them – Vlad understood this and thankfully, so did Francesca. Situated at his side, the woman had taken to standing at her place at the table, hovering over a map of Budapest as she and the others carved the city into sections.

Planning.

Strategizing.

All things he enjoyed, yet he couldn't bring himself to participate.

He had felt Elina's passing long before Vesper and Jacob had uploaded the footage of it. He knew it had been inevitable, had been dreading it since he had last seen her, when they said their final goodbyes.

Yet still, the hole her loss left in him was a little larger than he had anticipated.

She had been such a loyal friend and ally – a fledgling that had made him proud beyond belief. His heart ached.

When Augustine was finally destroyed, when they would begin the work to rebuild their little corner of the world again, her absence would be felt – of that he was certain. But that hadn't even been the worst of it.

The footage of Mariella's execution was something he hadn't properly braced himself for.

And then the pictures of his children.

Francesca – as if she had anticipated it – had been kind enough to pull him aside to at least warn him. She had even offered to give him an excuse to leave during the broadcast if he needed one. Her consideration moved him, but he had insisted on staying and in truth, he was glad he did. Glad that he could feed from her steady presence in the room as he witnessed with his own eyes what had been done in his absence.

But he hadn't been prepared for the hollow ache, a heavy weight settling like a stone in his chest. Without offering a word of explanation, he quietly slipped out of the room, using the chaos to his advantage. The quiet of the main room of the building was a welcomed change as he made his way over to the bar, retrieving a bottle of that whiskey he enjoyed so much.

He poured himself a generous helping, filling the tumbler about half-way before topping it off with some vampire blood from an already opened bottle in the small fridge beneath the counter. The result of the blood and the werewolf venom that spiked the alcohol mixing was a fascinating chemical reaction. With his preternatural senses, he could hear the way the two liquids blended and fizzled together – an eternal battle for dominance.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, already bracing himself for the burn before it even touched his tongue.

It was a delightful sensation, like drinking carbonated fire, effectively numbing the emotional turmoil that had been trying to settle in his bones. He hissed a little as it cracked and fizzled down his gullet, sliding slow before spooling warmly in his stomach.

He was already pouring himself another when she appeared, her footfall silent as she stepped out of the darkened hall and into the room.

"Pour me one?" Frankie asked, looking as tired as he felt.

He retrieved a second glass and fixed a drink for them both as she pulled up a stool, seating herself in her usual spot.

"Done planning already?" he managed, trying to keep his tone teasing and light, but he could tell from just one look that she wasn't buying his act.

"Jacob uncovered more evidence surrounding Augustine's brotherhood. Rémy was practically giddy with the findings and I was fine when they were coming up with plans on how we could eliminate Marcus' inner circle, but then Lyra got them reminiscing about the last time they all went up against the Fraternitatem et Sanguis and I decided it was better to slip out than to participate in that particular walk down memory lane."

She nodded in thanks when he handed her the finished drink, but only stared at it for a long moment. He could tell she was deliberating on what to say next, her brows furrowed over slightly. When her expression finally relaxed, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

"I'm sorry… about Elina," she said.

He tried to shrug, but it was half-hearted. The fact that she had read him so well – he wasn't sure if it should make him relieved or concerned. Deciding not to think too hard on the matter, he brought his glass up to his lips and chose to savor the concoction this time, taking a sip.

"I knew it was coming," he admitted. "She had made that much clear the last time I saw her – I just didn't know she was intending to record it so the whole world could see, as well."

"Are you angry with Jacob for streaming it without…"

"No," he interjected before she could finish. "No, I respect his initiative. It was smart, really – and just what we needed to spur the people to action."

"Still," Frankie maintained, drink remaining untouched. "You were her maker. Even without a sire-bond in place, I know you felt it when she passed."

"Have I become so easy to read?" he asked, clearly deflecting as he hid behind his glass, taking another sip – longer this time.

"No," she answered. "You aren't the easiest man to read, but I'm learning."

"I'm honored you consider me worth the effort," he said, a half-smile curving his lips.

"I care," she admitted, "though some might consider me foolish for doing so." He released a short exhale through his nose, something akin to a silent chuckle.

"Many years ago, I would have considered you a fool for that as well. Caring makes you vulnerable."

"And do you? Do you think me a fool?"

He immediately shook his head, placing his glass down on the bar counter beside hers before making his way around so he could sit beside her.

"Actually, it's a quality I've come to admire," he confessed. "Though, admittedly, I'm not accustomed to being on the receiving end."

"Too busy building walls and keeping people at arm's length?" she asked knowingly with a smile. There wasn't a trace of judgment in her eyes, though. Only empathy. She understood better than most and the whole thing left him feeling naked, and not in an enjoyable way. He wondered if he'd ever grow accustomed to the sensation.

"It's safer that way – especially for them," he said, voice low, almost a whisper. She turned so she could face him fully, one knee situated between both of his. She rested her palm over his hand on the counter at their side.

"I know," was all she offered by way of reply.

Her touch soothed him, and without even thinking about it, he took that hand in both of his so he could press a kiss to her open palm. The action said far more than mere words ever could have.

"Things are going to get much, much worse before they get better," he warned, looking into her eyes.

From the shift in her countenance, he could tell she understood.

"I know. This isn't the first war I've had to live through."

"No – nor mine," he conceded with a rueful smile before his expression became grave. "But it's the first one you've initiated, the first one you'll lead."

"I still don't understand why you can't," she started. They had had this conversation before, many times during the last week, in fact.

"Because this is your fight… and the experience you'll acquire is going to play a vital role in your future as queen – specifically where what is left of my court is concerned. How all of this plays out will inform how they look at you, whether or not they'll take you seriously. Besides, if I revealed myself now, everyone in that room would take my counsel as gospel truth. No one would question me, not even Lyra. And, in the spirit of being wholly honest, I've come to value the opinions in that room far more than I could have ever anticipated. I won't jeopardize that, Francesca. Not with the task that lies ahead of us. The best way to get this job done is to have those different perspectives – it's the only way to uncover the best solution. Besides, with you at the helm, they're more likely to be as blunt as possible, whereas with I, they'd muzzle themselves for fear of insulting me."

She rolled her eyes a bit at that, gently removing her hand from his so she could grab her drink.

"I still think this whole need for secrecy is unnecessary," she persisted, taking one long gulp from her glass, shuddering a little as it burned its way down her throat.

"Maybe. But we'll need to deal with it for a little while longer. And I give you my word, no matter what happens, I'll still be with you every step of the way," he promised, and while a part of her was reassured by that, it did little to ease the pressure still settling on her shoulders.

"I don't even have a crown yet and I feel like I'm about to be crushed under the weight of all this responsibility," Frankie admitted, taking another drink – this time polishing off what was left in her glass.

He scoffed a little, brow arched.

"Welcome to my world."

"It's a good thing we're immortal," she added with a cheeky grin. "The rise in blood-pressure alone…"

"Not to mention the way ruling ages you. You should have seen me during the last five years of my mortal life," he replied. "The wrinkles! And all those sprouting gray hairs!"

She laughed.

"I don't know – I think the gray might add a certain distinction to you," Frankie teased. "I've always had a weakness for older men… and I can certainly appreciated a good silver fox."

A comfortable silence lingered between them, the only sound in the air being the muted conversation still coming from the war room in the back. Vlad found himself acknowledging how grateful he was for this little pocket of serenity he was enjoying with her, away from the chaos. He had no doubt that he'd come to value it even more once the war began. The thought had him reaching for Frankie's hand once more.

"I didn't realize how… how thorough Marcus had been when you were his prisoner," he whispered, desperately trying to quiet the bubbling rage in his heart by distracting himself with caressing her knuckles under his thumb. "That he…" He couldn't even utter the words.

Marcus had touched her.

Done more than just touch her.

The thought made him ill – the suggestion of what she had endured sent a primal possessiveness roaring through his veins.

"I don't know why I mentioned it," she admitted. "I haven't talked about what he did to me in decades…"

"Not that I'm an authority on opening up or anything," Vlad replied with a bit of a self-deprecating grin and she chuckled, "but I've been told that sometimes it helps to just bleed off the poison of the memories every now and again. For your own peace of mind." His expression grew serious again. "I know talking isn't easy – I struggle with it myself."

"I've noticed."

The corner of his lips barely twitched in response to her deflection.

"But when you can manage, with as little or as much detail as you can muster… it's worth the effort."

Frankie smiled appreciatively up at him, but there was a sadness in her eyes that had him squeezing her hand as if to reassure her.

"Picturing his face while I was speaking… just uttering his name – it sent me back to that place." She shuddered involuntarily. "That crazed, unbridled wrath."

"You controlled your blood-rage extremely well," he pointed out, the pride in his voice softening her features.

"Having you there to steady me helped," she replied, looking up to meet his gaze. "I think I might have lost myself to it, had it not been for you."

"It's been over a month since we've trained, so I'd say you did pretty damn well, all things considered." He chuckled. "Although the look on your brother's face when your eyes started to go black was priceless."

They both laughed that time.

"I wish I could have seen Augustine's," she replied.

"That makes two of us."

The amusement soon died as the pair fell silent again, an unspoken tension settling between them.

It had been a week since that night at Vilkova when he had tasted of her blood. The days that had followed had left Frankie in a panic as she had waited with baited breath for the delayed reaction to kick in. She had checked in with him often to make sure he was still all right… but nothing had happened. He continued to stand, completely unharmed and yet, still she struggled to believe.

He hadn't pushed for more since then – something she secretly appreciated. But there was a growing part of her that longed to feel his fangs in her neck once more. It was hard to think about anything else, sometimes – that glorious blend of pleasure and an erotic kind of pain, a penetration that tapped into the most primal part of her.

Given the way she found him often staring at her throat, she suspected he felt very much the same.

"So what happens now?" Frankie found herself asking.

Dracula remained silent, considering his words before uttering them.

"We do the best that we can," he replied candidly. "Try to organize the people, keep them in line, but also safe. And when we strike, we do so hard and fast. If we play our hand smart, if we make sure not to underestimate Marcus and his penchant for ruthlessness – we could make it out of this alive. They will make it out of this alive…" and he looked behind her toward the war room at the other end of the hall.

"Do you ever feel guilty?"

"For what?"

"For being truly immortal? Knowing that literally nothing can touch you? That this war might ravage the land and all we hold dear, that we could lose everything… yet still we go on, coming out the other end? I used to think being unable to die was a blessing," and with her free hand she reached behind her blouse to rub the brand on her flesh as if it ached. "But with all that lies ahead, I can't help but wonder if it's a curse."

Vlad sighed heavily, contemplating her words.

"It very well could be, but I, for one, am glad your blood didn't kill me," he admitted quietly. "It's selfish, I know, but I find myself reassured by the fact that at least where you and I are concerned, no matter what happens, I won't ever lose you to true death."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But there are far worse fates. If my blood had destroyed you, true death would have been a mercy." She squeezed his hand, looking down at their entwined fingers. "Even if it had only been for a moment, I don't think I could have born the responsibility of your death. And the fact that I didn't stop you, that I let you… I can't even begin to imagine what Rémy or Lyra would say if they knew."

"Given their opinions of Dracula, I don't think they, or anyone else for that matter, would have survived long enough to mourn my loss, dragă. No one would have noticed or cared." He was teasing of course, but there was an unspoken sincerity in his words that she sensed immediately.

"That's not true," she whispered, eyes welling with unshed tears. "I would."

His chest cracked at those two simple words, and the glistening in her eyes nearly undid him. But then she reached up to touch his face, her palm pressed against his cheek with a tenderness that sent his undead heart swelling.

She was already moving forward to kiss him, and he leaned in to meet her halfway when the sound of Rémy and Jacob coming down the hall, headed in their direction, interrupted the moment and the couple quickly pulled away. They spun simultaneously in their seats, facing the bar to ensure a respectable distance lingered between them, struggling to act as casual as possible as the two men entered the room.

"That is going to get old really fucking fast," Frankie muttered under her breath for only Vlad to hear.

The look he wore was dark as he reached for his glass and downed its remaining contents in a single breath.

"Oh, it already is," he grumbled behind gritted teeth.

I know. I'm an insufferable tease ;)

Have no fear, though, dear readers - the wait will be over soon enough. When I start posting book 3, do you want me to include a count-down until Frankie & Vlad finally get naked and horizontal? Let me know! And if you've got any fun names for said-countdown, I'd love to hear them ;)